


Chemistry Class

by melissfiction



Category: Solar Opposites
Genre: Blackmail, Chemistry, College Setting, Dating App Mishap, M/M, Teacher's Assistant/Student, but very innocent blackmail, korvo and vanbo are fwb, working class unite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissfiction/pseuds/melissfiction
Summary: Korvo swiped right on everyone, but he never expected to match with one of his own students.
Relationships: Korvotron "Korvo"/Terry (Solar Opposites), Korvotron "Korvo"/Vanbo (Solar Opposites)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Swipe Right

Korvo was a teacher’s assistant for one reason and one reason only: to get a  _ fat _ 50% discount on his graduate school tuition. Besides that he was competent enough to grade a hundred students a day, he had nothing to prove. He hated teaching—he was an engineer, not an academic babysitter—and he especially hated chemistry, but that juicy, thick, mouth-watering tuition discount was worth the pain with housing rates inflating every year. His generation was the lucky one whose graduation year just barely met the cutoff before planetary destruction. He needed his degree quite literally as badly as he needed to live. 

He chose the earliest morning lecture, a deliberate sabotage to the students that meant to do well in the class but couldn’t properly function when most of the population was still asleep. Nobody wanted to be there. It was a fitting aura for him, considering that he didn’t want to be there, either. Best of all, attendance was not mandatory. Those were the sweetest words in any class syllabus. No percentage of the grade was dedicated to participation, either. He expected the morning to be a coffee-scented dead quiet paradise where he could simply pass out a worksheet, swipe mindlessly through Shlinder for half an hour, and then give out all the answers in the last half of class. 

His favorite student was 31827, who had perfect non-attendance for two weeks straight. The class population was small, even smaller with all the students who couldn’t wake up on Monday and then pulled their shit together for Wednesday only to give up all over again on Friday to treat themselves, but 31827 was legendary in the academy for never showing up to his classes besides on midterms and finals and the occasional mandatory first day. 31827 was the model slacker, the picture in the urban dictionary when you look up the phrase “C’s get degrees”, the cherry on top of Korvo’s misery sundae. Korvo knew that if 31827 was his classmate, he surely would have resented 31827 for not trying. As a professor, Korvo  _ loved  _ 31827\. It made his job one student easier. He had even drawn a heart around 31827’s ID picture on the class call sheet. 

Korvo had always been a special exception, though. On week three, there’s a new face sitting at the very front of the class that Korvo recognized immediately. The newcomer arrived before Korvo, somehow, to an empty classroom with only a tumbler of iced coffee. The newcomer was quickly able to deduce that Korvo was the TA when Korvo chose his seat at the front desk of the portable classroom. He stood up to greet his TA. 

“Good morning, Korvotron!” he greeted, as he made his way over to the front desk. 

That was his first interaction with a student beyond collecting worksheets and being asked to repeat himself. Korvo didn’t even know he was supposed to be on a first name basis with students. 

31827 wiped the cold tumbler condensation off his hand before offering it to his TA. He leaned over the desk. “My name is—” 

Korvo shook his hand. “It’s Terry, I know.” He tried to convey all of his displeasure through their mutual eye contact, but Terry was immune to it. “You used to be my favorite student, you know.” 

Terry gripped Korvo’s hand firmly. “Because we matched on Shlinder last night?”

Korvo tried to set himself free of the handshake, but Terry just kept on shaking away. His face flushed. “I-I didn’t—I don’t know what you—I’m…” He had no idea they matched. He swiped right without looking because he liked variety, he was waiting to check the app during the class period. “Please don’t report me to the admin,” he begged. “I need this job.” 

Terry knew he did. “You’ll do anything?” He stopped shaking Korvo’s hand, but he didn’t let go. 

“Sure.” 

Terry squeezed Korvo’s hand tighter. “Anything?” he repeated. 

Korvo didn’t like where this was going, but he wasn’t the driver on this road trip to hell. “Yes, Terry. I will do anything.” With rent like his, he would murder to pay the bills. 

“Cancel class,” Terry ordered.

That was a silly demand, considering attendance was never mandatory, but Korvo wouldn’t question it. “Okay, sure, class is cancelled.” 

“And then…” 

God-fucking-dammit, Korvo should’ve known there was more. He hated the shiver that ran down his spine as Terry’s grin turned malicious. “A-And then?” 

Terry clasped his other hand on top of Korvo’s. “And then, you’re going to take me on a date!” 

Korvo hated, loathed, and utterly  _ despised  _ his job… but Terry, his favorite student, was the silver lining to the awful storm cloud eternally hovering over his head. 

* * *

With their fingers interlaced, Korvo walked Terry to the plaza just over the bridge in front of the main library, to a smoothie shop that was days away from declaring bankruptcy. His first thought was to take Terry to his favorite day bar. It was a stupid thought. That bar was where he usually met up with his Schlinder dates. He had a reputation there, and he didn’t doubt the bartender, Vanbo, who he had already hooked up with multiple times, would hesitate to further ruin the already-tarnished image Terry had of him. Terry was still his underling, blackmail or not, and he deserved a good date. Maybe Terry wasn’t innocent, per say, but the fact that he had only asked Korvo for a date and not an A in the class made Korvo obliged to not drink himself stupid.

“You didn’t even read my bio, did you?” Terry asked. 

“Nope.” 

Terry respected that. Shlinder roulette was a fun game. “I read  _ your  _ bio.” Terry had his phone ready, thumb tapping on the little red flame inside a white box. He read Korvo’s bio out loud: “‘I will spread my legs for anyone.’” Korvo sure knew how to get to the point. His first picture was his most recent STD test showing all negatives. 

“Are you trying to slut-shame me?” Korvo scoffed. “You know we’re probably going to be left behind to die when the asteroid hits, right?” 

Terry laughed and hugged Korvo’s arm. “I’m trying to say I like you!” 

Korvo had been left behind at the grocery store too many times by his gene donor to believe that. “You don’t know me. You just know I’m clean, and really, you don’t even know that for sure.” 

He expected Terry to recoil, but Terry only clung tighter to his arm. “You don’t need to know a painting to see that it’s beautiful,” he argued. “I feel gravitated towards you.” 

“All sinners fall to hell.” Terry laughed, again, and there was something disarming about the sheer carelessness in Terry’s laugh that made Korvo laugh, too. “Let me guess, you’re looking for something more?” 

“Aren’t we all?” 

“No,” Korvo said. “I’m just trying to get fucked. I thought that was clear.” 

Once they crossed the bridge, they were forced to change the topic. Although the morning rush of students trying to get their caffeine fix before two-hour lectures flooded the plaza, the noise never crescendoed past a soft murmur. 

The new trend was a whipped fluff of pink cream sitting atop a coconut milk latte. Pink was everyone’s favorite color, all of a sudden, and by that, Korvo meant the public opinion of the color pink was swayed by the onslaught of pink advertisements, pink toys, pink ray guns, pink  _ everything  _ flooding the markets. It was supposed to be some symbol of the new era of overinflation, some pathetic attempt at putting rose-colored glasses over their almost-hivemind species to distract from the incoming asteroid. 

When they sat themselves down at a booth in the dying smoothie shop, Korvo noticed that Terry’s gemstone was a pink teardrop. Logically, Korvo knew that it was mere coincidence. Gemstone assignments were random. Korvo made the mistake of thinking past logic, though. Instead of the menu, Korvo stared at Terry’s gemstone and wondered if Terry was part of a grand scheme to dye his life the color of cherry blossoms and drown him in cotton candy sweetness. Korvo never had an aversion to pink, like some male-identifying Shlorpians did when their dysphoria triggered them into lashing out against anything associated with femininity, but he felt betrayed by his inability to look away from the bright color. But how could he? It was everywhere. 

Terry got the wrong message and buttoned the top button of his robe. “I just wanted a date,” he clarified. Disappointment fiddled his fingers together and slumped his posture down. “I just thought you were cute, and maybe we would hit it off. Was that too stupid?” 

“What—no! I wasn’t trying to…” Korvo could feel his professionality meter dropping, along with whatever remnants of charisma he had left. He covered his face. “I’m sorry. It’s early. I was thinking about your gemstone. It’s really pretty.” 

Terry had been coerced by that same line too many times by bad Shlinder dates to believe that. “I get that a lot.” 

Korvo set his menu down. “Hey.” He squeezed Terry’s arm. “You’re not stupid for wanting something more.” Even if it was stupid, Korvo would gladly trade his IQ points for that same bravery. Hookups were a shallow pleasure. That’s why he had to seek it out every day to feel something. It was a hell of a coping mechanism. “If you’re stupid, it’s because you ditch class every day.” 

“I work full-time, you know.” Terry wouldn’t mention where, but he had a feeling that Korvo’s lifestyle would eventually lead him to his workplace. “Night shift. I haven’t even slept, yet. I do, um...” He heard that telling people that he worked in finance was a sure way to impress them, but that was unrealistic for an undergraduate student. “... ‘customer service’.” 

Korvo let go of Terry’s arm. He double-checked their surroundings for any nosy waiters. “You’re a prostitute?” he whispered. 

“ _ You’re  _ a prostitute,” Terry snapped back. “Geez, do you really think that lowly of me?” 

“Well, don’t say suspicious things like ‘customer service’ and I won’t assume the worst. Just tell me what you do for a living. You already know I’m a nymphomaniac alcoholic.”

“I didn’t know you were an alcoholic?” 

Dammit. Korvo had felt so over-scrutinized by societal expectations that he forgot to hide his ugly flaws around someone who hadn’t yet figured out how awful he was. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. “I can quit any time,” he said defensively, despite the sudden craving for a glass of whiskey on the rocks. “So, what, do you deal drugs? Rob banks? Strip?” 

“I strip!” Terry finally confessed. “Alright? I’m a stripper.” He preferred the term exotic dancer, because he was a dance minor and did have a passion for dancing beyond shiny metal poles and bills stuffed into his lingerie, but who was he kidding? His clients tipped him for his body, not his graceful pirouettes. He saw a familiar look of objectification-based daydreaming glaze over Korvo’s eyes and snapped his fingers to bring his date back to reality. “Do you even see me? Or do you just see another notch on your bedpost?” 

Korvo slapped Terry’s snapping hand away. “I see you, I see you,” he assured him. “I was just thinking. I like to think. We all need to think our thoughts.” 

Korvo may as well be speaking gibberish to Terry. “Are you my chemistry TA or my philosophy TA?” 

Before Korvo could answer, two pink sunsetberry-lustfruit smoothies were set down on the table. It was Korvo’s favorite, but no such flavor existed on the smoothie shop’s menu. Korvo looked up at the waiter, who was none other than: “Vanbo?” 

“On the house,” Vanbo said with a wink. “Last night was a hell of a ride.” He bent down to whisper to Korvo. “ _ Let me know if pink-gem wants to join us. Three’s company. _ ”

Korvo pushed the bartender/smoothie barista away. He didn’t even remember last night, he wouldn’t even subject his worst enemy to the torture that was Vanbo’s awful personality, and the expression was “Three’s a crowd”, not “Three’s company.” He already felt claustrophobic with Vanbo’s ego taking up all the space in the empty smoothie shop. Most of his hell was self-made, but the rest was Vanbo’s doing. 

Korvo took a small sip of his smoothie. It tasted so much sweeter without the vodka. He hated that about Vanbo, that despite all the insults they flung at each other, he still felt too guilty not to tip. “I’m not a chemist or a philosopher or even a teacher. I’m an engineer.” He considered showing Terry screenshots of his blueprints for a new lavatic reactor design, one with twice the “ah” sound as the current latest models, but his phone was probably blowing up with Shlinder matches and messages from old hookups he was trying to ghost and bottomless spam emails about the latest pink product. There was no “unsubscribe” button from the inky black demons trying to curse him into submission. Instead, he continued talking to Terry, a real Shlorpian that wanted nothing but mutual understanding. This may be his last opportunity at such a connection. “I’m pursuing my Master’s in electrical engineering, right now, in my first year. What are you studying?”

“I’m studying biology, trying to be a Pupa Specialist.” Terry was hesitant to drink a smoothie made by one of Korvo’s suspicious colleagues—too many spiked drinks. He had to wait until Korvo was halfway finished with his smoothie to even dare wonder what artificial tastiness was hidden in the pink smoothie. “I just need another year of undergraduate, then two years of the accelerated graduate school course, and I get to be a little closer to being picked for the mission to resurrect our homeworld.” 

“What? It’s  _ that  _ fast to be a Pupa Specialist? That means we’ll graduate the same year.” 

Korvo felt even more humiliated when Terry had to count the years on his fingers to confirm the conclusion. 

“Oh, you’re right. Huh.” Terry was about to thoughtlessly drink his smoothie, but stopped himself mid-sip. He pushed the smoothie to the side. “The Pupa Specialist path is weird. My generation is the only one that’s allowed to be a Pupa Specialist. If I were born a year sooner or a year later, I wouldn’t have qualified. Why is that? What’s the difference between, say, my generation and your generation?” 

Korvo took a long sip of his smoothie in contemplation. He didn’t have many friends, let alone friends from his specific generation, besides Vanbo. (Were they really friends, though?) It was painful trying to look for the similarities between him and Vanbo, of all Shlorpians, but there was always that orbital resonance, that periodic gravitational influence they had on each other that was enough for Vanbo to make him the best drinks and for Korvo to tip him for it. “Shlorp never cared about Shlorpians until it needed to. Look at all the gentrification.” He gestured to the empty seats around them “This perfectly good smoothie shop is failing under the new market demands.” 

Terry looked around. The problem he saw was that the smoothie shop’s color scheme was yellow: the daffodil wallpaper, the lemon-flavored smoothies on the menu, and the bright sunshine pouring in from every window. The shop had been left in the dust by Shlorpian society’s dominating affinity for pink, still living in an era where colors were only meant to not clash with each other. 

“You want to be happy. You know it’s possible, because now you can see it in the little things.” Korvo looked down at his pink smoothie. “My generation got caught in the middle. I’m not used to the illusion of choice, I’m used to surviving. I’ll put up with the stupid bullshit and I won’t even question it.” 

“I don’t think I follow?” 

Korvo thought he was explaining himself perfectly well, but he relented. “I’m no philosopher. There are no philosophers in my generation, those classes weren’t even offered until after I graduated. But you’re living in the generation of hope. With our planet ending so soon, that’s the thing that’ll keep you going. You need compassion to raise a Pupa, those stupid slugs have no survival instincts. Those sentiments don’t exist in my generation. We’re so well-programmed and suppressed, and that’s why we’re the engineers and chemists and mathematicians. Does that make sense?” 

“What do you mean you have no compassion?” Terry asked.

Korvo could see it, that sparkling of hopefulness, in Terry’s eyes. A pout, a fuss, a rebellion against Korvo’s tired ways of rejecting modernity. They were only two years apart in age. Generational gaps used to be twenty years wide, but in this last decade before destruction, Shlorp was trying to cram in an entire planetary cycle. Too much was changing and Korvo wasn’t ready to accept it. Not that he had a choice. He was an authority figure, kinda, and it was his moral obligation to guide Terry into the light—that is, the opposite direction from him and his demons. He had to practice compassion. 

“It’s just not something I’m used to.” Korvo was making excuses left and right. He was as bad as a replicant trying to feign sickness to avoid the bullies at school. “It’s not that I hate it. I’m having a good time right now, actually.” 

“Really? You are?” Terry saw that Korvo’s smoothie was already halfway finished without any side effects, so he finally took his first sip. 

“Yes, that’s what I just said. I am enjoying your presence.” 

The smoothie was so over-sweetened that Terry felt his tooth ache. “Well, that makes one of us, then.” 

Korvo hated losing at imaginary games. He needed to win Terry over. “Why don’t we head over to my place?” 

“So we can fuck?” 

Korvo was so used to inviting his Shlinder dates to his place that he forgot the connotation behind it. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to go at freakin’ 9 in the morning. “So I can cook for you.” 

“And then fuck?” 

“I won’t try to fuck you,” Korvo promised, with an unspoken  _ unless you want to because in that case, I’m totally down.  _ “I’m just too poor to take you anywhere else.” 

Terry knew he would regret it, but he was too sleep-deprived to say no. A free meal was a free meal. They take their smoothies and as they’re leaving, Korvo made sure to feed the tip jar. 

“I get off at lunch,” Vanbo told Korvo. 

“No,” Korvo said firmly. 

But after he left the store, he mouthed to Vanbo through the glass storefront that he’ll call him while holding up the telephone hand signal. 


	2. Tutoring Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry receives an impromptu organic chemistry tutoring session from Korvo. Korvo receives an impromptu philosophy tutoring session from Vanbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex scene incoming! But I SWEAR it's important for the plot. 
> 
> Zoh-Phee's Decision = Sophie's Choice, a movie where a Nazi officer forces a woman to decide which one of her twins dies 
> 
> Xlato's cave = Plato's cave, a philosophical thought experiment that goes exactly the way Vanbo describes it

Korvo’s last job was at a five-star restaurant downtown and it showed in the contents of his fridge. Besides looking like Korvo robbed a distillery, Terry was surprised to see an entire produce section in Korvo’s fridge. Terry no longer had to worry about any awkward encounters at the grocery store. Wherever Korvo shopped, Terry knew he couldn’t afford it. Terry pushed aside a box of bright lavender-berries to peer at the hiding tofu. He opened up a drawer of summer onions and aquaflowers and hexagammas, marveling at just how smoothly the drawer rolled out—no squeaks, no labeled containers from stingy roommates, and, insidiously, no meat. It didn’t take him long to find the horn peppers Korvo needed, but Terry never missed a chance to invade a cute stranger’s privacy. He fully believed that you are what you eat. 

The more Terry learned, the more questions he had, and the more he started to regret ditching class so often. As he washed the horn peppers, he noticed, also, how there were no dirty dishes, how the dish soap wasn’t watered down, and how shiny the stainless steel was. Terry couldn’t rationalize it. Korvo was supposed to be a poor grad student, poorer than him with how stingy grad school financial aid is, yet Terry was the one living with five roommates while Korvo had a guest room. Terry wasn’t good at math, but he knew when one and one didn’t add up. 

“You have a nice place,” Terry said. It was meant as an inquiry, not a compliment. Terry wanted to know whose root he had to plant into his mound to get a place like that. A TA’s salary couldn’t afford that kind of rent. There was a strike just a couple of years ago, begging for the first 10% raise in decades in response to the spikes in rent around the university plaza. The closer to planetary destruction, the more desperation for educated Shlorpians to resurrect the homeworld, the more expensive the value for education, the more competition, the more inflation, the more over-exhausted Nihilists willing to risk it all for a sliver of happiness. 

“Thanks,” Korvo answered, because he was too busy grating purple carrots to pick up on the jealousy. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. “It’s a bitch to pay for, even with support.” 

“Support?” 

Korvo wasn’t sure why he said that. He wasn’t proud of having half his rent paid for by a gene donor that he wasn’t even brave enough to visit, anymore. He was a teacher, now, though, and that gave him a bad habit of answering questions as a reward for anyone eager enough to ask. “My gene donor supports me, financially.” 

As bad as his attendance was, Terry was still a student at heart. He was curious. “But not emotionally?” He set the horn peppers down on Korvo’s chopping board. 

Korvo smiled wryly. “Are you a biologist or a psychologist?” He shredded the purple carrots to a nib, then scooted the purple shavings to the side with his knife and started on prepping the horn peppers. The motion was muscle memory, down and forward in a rhythm so steady he never feared chopping his fingertips off. 

“Whichever one you’ll trust more.” 

“Well, don’t change your major, then. Psychology isn’t a real science.” 

Terry expected that kind of response, considering all the unresolved childhood traumas bottled and chilled in Korvo’s fridge. Neither of them would be able to afford to know whether therapy worked or not, regardless of financial support. Time was money, too, and therapy was work. More work, on top of the second jobs on top of the piles of homework on top of the aches from the previous day. 

“Why don’t you sit down?” Korvo suggested. “Food won’t be long.” 

“I could help,” Terry offered, even though he still had no idea what Korvo was making. It was all just shredded and sliced and chopped vegetables, though. Even he could manage that. 

“No, just sit.” Korvo didn’t mind being Terry’s personal chef. His old job at the restaurant used to be his only escape from his gene donor. He volunteered so many overtime hours that he eventually climbed up to head chef, and he didn’t even particularly like cooking. Or, rather, he never particularly liked eating. Maybe that was because he didn’t have a good sense of taste, and maybe that was because he drank too much, and maybe that was because alcohol was the only flavor that ever stood out to him, and maybe that was because he didn’t have a good sense of taste. Another self-fulfilling prophecy. He never had an appetite, but there was always a thirst. 

Terry sat cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room, one of the few furniture items in the apartment. There was also a leather couch, some paintings of angels, and a stack of secondhand textbooks strained so much from opening too many times that the cardboard spines were showing. At the top, Terry recognized the green cover of a ball-and-stick model of some complex organic molecule atop an overly detailed insect. It was the organic chemistry textbook, the fifth edition, except not in the form of a PDF. Terry picked it up, just for the novelty of it, because he hadn’t held a textbook since grade school. It was a lot heavier than the 74.6 megabyte file on his laptop. A lot dustier, too. 

Korvo noticed Terry blowing the dust off the textbook. He was embarrassed, caught red-handed that he didn’t actually stay as up-to-date on organic chemistry knowledge as he should be, but also flattered that Terry was genuinely intrigued. “You can take that, if you want. You need it more than me.” 

It was dawning on Terry, finally, that Korvo was his TA, meaning Korvo had gone through all the tortures of being a science major on Shlorp and survived. Hell, he even thrived well enough to make it to graduate school. “I didn’t miss a lot these past two weeks, did I?” 

Wrong move. Terry was checkmated into a lecture about substitution reactions. Korvo didn’t read the textbook, but as a TA, he was required to sit in at every class. He lectured Terry about how to classify alkyl halides, the nomenclature, the physical properties of alkyl halides, the reactivity of alkyl halides, the general features of nucleophilic substitution, and when Terry needed a reminder about what nucleophilicity meant, Korvo went all the way back to general chemistry to describe positive and negative charges and VSEPR theory and polarity. Then, when Terry understood what a nucleophile was, he asked about acidity and basicity and Korvo went over that, too, until Terry finally understood well enough for Korvo to move onto explaining leaving groups. 

By the time the food was ready, Korvo had somehow persuaded Terry into identifying the nucleophiles and leaving groups and drawing the products of the substitution reactions in between bites of lemon-zested fried vegetables. There was a pen rubbing at Terry’s calluses and unpracticed carbon-hexagons, pointy peaks, and electron-pushing arrows. Terry didn’t even like vegetables, and he especially didn’t like organic chemistry, but they were both necessary evils that he was too sleep-deprived to resist. 

Korvo was at his side, looking over Terry’s shoulder to criticize any mistake. He waited for any opportunity to correct Terry, but it never came. “That’s completely right,” he said. It was an easy problem, but everyone had to start somewhere. His hand was clasped over Terry’s. “Good job. You should be able to do the next problem, too.” 

The date, the food, the tutoring, the encouragement, the hand over his—it was all so dizzying to Terry. He hadn’t been told “Good job” by a teacher since, maybe,  _ never.  _ Korvo was only a TA, but still, it counted. “I think… I think I need to lay down.” The room was also spinning a bit. 

“You can use the bedroom.”

Terry had heard that line, before. “No, I’m fine, I just…” He crawled onto the couch. “I just need to lie down for a bit.” He had only been up for, what, 30 hours? Maybe 32? He used to be able to stay up so long he had hallucinations, but that was probably why he was breaking down now. He covered his eyes with his hand and hid from his motion sickness, behind the relieving darkness under his eyelids. “You didn’t roofie me, did you?” 

Korvo did not appreciate the accusation. “I-I was eating the same food as you!” 

“Were you, though?” Terry argued. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice Korvo rearranging the carrots the entire time. “You hardly had a bite.” 

Korvo’s face flushed. “Th-That’s… I’m…” Korvo had been trying hard to distract Terry from his plate, but he underestimated Terry. That didn’t mean he owed Terry an explanation, though. “I’m just not hungry.” He suddenly felt thirsty.

Terry left it at that. Whatever was going to happen to him—date-rape, assault, murder—he didn’t care, anymore. He was able to connect with Korvo in a weird, nerdy way, and that was all he wanted on their soon-to-be-expired planet. He gave a vague consent: “Alright, then, I trust you.” Then, he released the tension in his muscles and drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Terry woke up to a knocking at the door and a lightswitch being flicked off. He sat up. His first instinct was to get up as soon as he could, because it was probably one of his roommates that accidentally locked themselves out and would soon resort to kicking the door down if nobody answered soon enough, but he was surprised by the unfamiliar blanket draped over him and a hushing from Korvo. He had fallen asleep on Korvo’s couch after an impromptu tutoring session. The textbook on the coffee table was still opened to the last page he was reading, but the plates were already cleared off. He also noticed that Korvo was using his phone as a coaster for his glass of red wine. 

Korvo was on his tippy-toes behind the peephole, praying that the unwanted visitor would leave soon. His phone was illuminating with green notifications from his visitor. Terry picked up the glass of wine to glance at Korvo’s phone, justifying that he only wanted to see the time, and he realized that it was already sunset. He had slept the entire day away at Korvo’s apartment. Also, whoever was at the door was looking forward to a “second date”, called Korvo “Korvy'', and was sending very strong signals with their generous use of the red heart emoji. Whoever it was, Korvo hadn’t even saved their number as a contact. 

“Are you… ghosting them?” Terry asked quietly. 

Korvo nodded. 

“Why don’t you just tell them you’re not interested in them?” 

“It’s been three days since I stopped responding. Isn’t that a big enough hint?” 

“No response does  _ not  _ count as a response.” 

Logically, Korvo knew Terry was right. He owed his unwanted visitor an apology. Yet, the guilt made it all the more tempting to avoid the issue. He couldn’t even remember their name. 

More tentative knocking from the unwanted visitor. “I brought champagne,” the visitor announced. 

Terry watched Korvo’s hand immediately fly towards the lock. “Dude, you have an entire liquor store in your fridge,” Terry said. 

Korvo took his hand off the lock. “Dammit, you’re right.” 

It took a few more moments, but the unwanted visitor eventually left. Korvo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding and flicked the lights back on. He returned to his glass of red wine and downed it within seconds. In his book, red wine didn’t count as real alcohol. It was healthier. Red wine had antioxidants. It was basically grape juice with a twist, but the twist was intoxication. 

“Are you going to ghost me, too?” Terry asked. He wanted a heads-up on how Korvo would break his heart. Maybe it wasn’t with a meaningless one-night stand or a drugged drink, but being ghosted seemed fitting. 

Korvo took the question as a suggestion, pondering briefly. “I don’t think I can, since you’re my student. But you’re the one who’s been ghosting me every time you miss class.” 

“But you’d totally ghost me after the quarter, right?” 

“I don’t know!” Korvo snapped. He hated being painted as a bad guy, but he also knew he was never the good guy. Korvo already knew how awful he was, and he didn’t need anyone else to remind him. “Why would that even matter? You don’t know me. You don’t like me. You won’t stick around.” Nobody ever stayed with him after getting to know him well, not even his own flesh and blood. That wasn’t his tragic backstory—it was his law, his principle, his guiding philosophy. He had alcohol, sex, and science. That was all a Shlorpian needed. 

Terry watched Korvo’s phone light up with a notification about a new Shlinder match. He sighed. “You’re right, Korvotron. I guess it never mattered.” Most of all, it never mattered to Korvo himself. Terry stood up. “I better get going. My shift is in a couple hours and I still have homework for my other classes.” 

Korvo followed Terry to the door and unlocked it for him. It was bright outside, especially compared to his dark apartment. He was looking forward to having his sanctuary cleansed of suspicious eyes judging him for all his bad habits. He had a full night of drinking planned out, already, since he didn’t have any class to teach tomorrow morning. “Get home safely.” Something about the way Terry walked out of the door, and possibly out of his life forever, gave him a sinking feeling in his chest. He was usually asleep or severely hungover when his Shlinder dates slipped out of his apartment in the morning. 

Terry was about to walk away, but Korvo stopped him. 

“Wait.” 

The word came out of Korvo’s mouth before it even registered in his mind. He meant to say something about enjoying their date, something about how he wished he could be the right boyfriend for Terry, or maybe something about how Terry could always email him with any homework questions, but instead, he went and got the organic chemistry textbook and gave it to Terry as a parting gift. “Here.”

“Oh.” Terry felt embarrassed to accept it, but also too embarrassed to reject it. “Thanks.” 

The warm, golden light glowed like a halo on Terry’s back. Korvo stayed in the shadows of his apartment, where he wouldn’t be blinded. He didn’t want to look away from the angelic warmth enveloping Terry, though. 

“You better pass this class, alright?” 

Terry smiled. “I’ll fuckin’ ace it, Korvotron!” 

There it was again: that recklessly disarming attitude that knocked the breath out of Korvo like a punch to the guts. It was an arrogance that only looked good on someone as well-intentioned as Terry. Korvo took one last look at Terry’s sparkling pink teardrop gem. He thought of how ironic the shape of Terry’s gem was. Terry looked like he had never cried in his life, had never feared disappointing a figure towering over him on a too-high pedestal. Korvo thought a circular gem was more fitting, a shape that exemplified the glorious perfection in its unflawed roundness. 

“‘Korvo’. Just call me ‘Korvo’.” 

* * *

Korvo pre-gamed  _ hard.  _ He pre-gamed so hard that the first drink Vanbo made for Korvo was always an unprompted glass of ice water. Often, Korvo would ask to cut the water with vodka, but even Vanbo, whose small business was kept afloat thanks to Korvo’s addiction, had to say no. Korvo pre-gamed, gamed, and post-gamed like every drink would be his last. It never was. Not even when Vanbo tricked Korvo into attending an AA meeting. That was why Vanbo wasn’t surprised to hear a clatter of empty beer cans before Korvo finally stumbled his way over to open the door. 

“Vanbo?” 

Vanbo wasn’t surprised that Korvo had forgotten he was coming, either. It was the same old story—Korvo made five separate booty calls, and Vanbo was the first to respond. Vanbo never understood why Korvo went through the effort of copy-pasting the same “I’m horny, come over” text to five different people. As high as Korvo’s GPA was, Korvo still hadn’t figured out that he always got horny at the same time when Vanbo was heading home after working the night shift at his bar. On top of that, they were neighbors. 

Vanbo let himself in, then left his boots next to Korvo’s at the door. “Why’s it so dark in here?” 

He flicked on the lights. Korvo flinched and shaded his eyes, but eventually adjusted. 

Vanbo swore that Korvo must have at least subconsciously knew that he was coming, from all the empty beer cans scattered on the floor. Korvo was always comfortable with showing his worst side to Vanbo. “I’m guessing your date with pink-gem didn’t go so well?” He shoved a box of chocolates into Korvo’s hands. “Here.”

Korvo recognized the pink bow on the gold packaging. It was his favorite brand, the Michel Cluizel Chocolate Truffles that he always used to get on paydays, before he was old enough to worry about rent. “What’s this for?” Korvo didn’t realize that Vanbo remembered little things like that, but then again, it must have been inevitable, considering how long they’ve known each other. Vanbo used to be a waiter at the restaurant Korvo used to work at, but he quit shortly after Korvo did, to open up his bar. He knew Vanbo’s favorite candy too. Anything cinnamon-flavored. 

“For consumption,” Vanbo retorted. He expected a thank-you, but close enough. He started gathering up the empty cans. 

“Stop that,” Korvo said, slapping a can out of Vanbo’s hand. His words were slurred. “Y-Y-You’re not—you can’t make me clean my apartment. You’re not my gene donor!” His thoughts were faster than he could articulate. 

“Korvo, you  _ know  _ I can’t stand a mess.” Vanbo talked with his hands, abstractly gesturing his emphasis. He was a bit of a clean freak, a bit neurotic about tidiness, because things  _ should _ be clean. He believed in a natural order that he fought to maintain against the unforgiving entropy of the universe. Organization was utopia. He spent all day mixing perfected ratios, wiping dirty fingerprints off of his bar’s marble counter, and polishing crystal glass cups. From time to time, he took breaks to wash his hands, as a smoker would, to sneak out the back door to get their nicotine fix. Tolerating Korvo’s self-destructive chaos was exhausting enough. Picking up the empty beer cans was something he could actually change, a direct remedy to the screaming at the back of his head. “I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re place is a mess. I mean it, this time.” 

Korvo sighed, aggressively, but relented. His aluminum floor ornaments would have to be retired to the Type 14.6 recycling bin. “You’re… You just… Y-You think you can be in control.” He tried not to trip over himself while he picked up the cans. “How’s  _ that  _ for a psychoanalysis, Dr. Vanbo?” Korvo never missed a chance to bring up his disdain for the Ph.D Vanbo was pursuing in psychology. 

“That’s too vague,” Vanbo said. “We all want to be in control. Case in point: your alcoholism, your nymphomania, your fear of commitment—” 

He was cut off when Korvo threw a can at him, but missed by a longshot. 

Korvo dumped the rest of the empty cans into the bin. “Fuck you, Vanbo! The difference between you and me is that I  _ am  _ in control! When I suffer, it’s because I choose it!” 

Vanbo sighed. He wasn’t going to have the same argument, again. “Sure, Korvo. You’re in control.” He tossed the empty can Korvo threw at him into the bin, and didn’t miss, because he wasn’t the drunk one. The screaming at the back of his head quieted down to a yelling now that the cans weren’t littering the floor. Now, all that he was worried about was how recently Korvo sanitized every high-contact surface. “I’m going to wash my hands.” 

While Vanbo was exhausting one, two, three, four, five pumps of hand soap onto his wet hands, which still had healing blisters from the fervent rubbing from the day before, Korvo undressed himself in the guest bedroom. Vanbo would throw a fit every time he saw Korvo’s actual bedroom, where crystals and spare parts and blueprints dominated every surface, which led to Korvo’s habit of only having sexual activities in the guest bedroom. That gave him a strange side effect of getting horny every time he entered that room. As Korvo folded his robe neatly, the way Vanbo insisted on, the memories of his last hookup with Vanbo came flooding in. 

He remembered crying, last night, but a thick fog was covering up his memory of why. He was awfully upset about something, and briefly, he recalled Vanbo saying sorry. Maybe that was the reason for the truffles, some kind of apology. They always blew up at each other, but they never tried to make up. The next day would come, and the morning light would overshadow the previous nights’ fights, and they would chalk it up to too much stress. Or, maybe Vanbo was always the one who said sorry and Korvo was always the one who was too drunk to remember. 

Tonight, Korvo would remember. He wasn’t as tipsy as usual. He let himself fall backwards onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. In his head, he connected the crevices of the white paint texture into the shape of a teardrop. 

His game of connect-the-dots was interrupted by a dip in the bed and his view of the ceiling was covered up by Vanbo’s face. Vanbo was straddling Korvo and spreading open his legs with his knee. His rough hands traced down Korvo’s chest to his belly. “You’ve really thickened up.” He started unbuttoning his robe. 

“Are you trying to fat-shame me?” Korvo turned his head away. “You know that you’re  _ definitely _ going to get left behind when the asteroid hits, right?” 

Vanbo folded his robe and set it down on top of Korvo’s, at the corner of the bed. “I think you look better with a few more pounds.” He tugged Korvo’s pants off. “But I think it’s time you start watching your weight.” 

“Shut up and fuck me, already. You know I don’t need foreplay.” 

“Whatever you want, Korv.” Vanbo pulled down his pants, lined up his root at Korvo’s mound, and slid right into the hot wetness. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he whispered. “You’re always so wet.” He pushed himself deeper into Korvo. 

Korvo pulled Vanbo in for a kiss. He was surprised Vanbo didn’t immediately pull away and slap him—he was hoping for that. Vanbo, on account of his hypochondria, didn’t do kissing. It was obvious that Vanbo hadn’t suddenly changed his mind about kissing, from how suddenly tense he became, but he eventually eased into it and thrust himself into Korvo while brushing their tongues together. The taste of Stella Artois on Korvo’s lips was almost enough to give Vanbo secondhand intoxication. Alcohol felt clean to Vanbo. The sharp, acrid scent reminded him of hand sanitizer. 

Korvo moaned into Vanbo’s mouth and met Vanbo’s thrusts with fervent grinding. He didn’t think anything could beat the bliss of a sweaty body on top of him, a fat root inside of him, and pure lust taking over him so completely he couldn’t bother to be polite. He pulled away from their kiss. “Choke me!” 

Vanbo squeezed the sides of Korvo’s throat lightly. Korvo moaned louder. 

“Harder,” Korvo demanded. 

Vanbo squeezed just a little bit harder and sped up his thrusts. He was hoping that if he got Korvo off sooner, Korvo would stop escalating the scenario. 

But Korvo was a sucker for raised stakes. The feeling of Vanbo’s root fucking his wet hole combined with the tightness at his throat brought him closer and closer to the edge. He spread his legs wider and angled his hips to let Vanbo fuck him deeper. The pain of Vanbo slamming into him brought a masochistic pleasure that traveled up his spine and made him moan Vanbo’s name. “Vanbo, Vanbo, Vanbo— _ fuuuuck _ …” He knew how much Vanbo loved it when he called out his name so needily. He clasped his hand over the hand Vanbo had around his throat, and forced Vanbo to squeeze tighter. “Hit me!” 

Vanbo let go of Korvo’s throat. “What? No!” He stopped. “C’mon, Korv,” he pleaded. “Don’t do this.” 

Korvo glared up at Vanbo. “I didn’t invite you into my mound for boring, vanilla missionary position.” 

“I have boundaries, Korvo!” 

“And  _ I _ have needs, Vanbo!” 

Vanbo wondered if Korvo even saw him, a real Shlorpian with real feelings, or if he just saw another notch on his bedpost. Vanbo was always the giver, but when it came to Korvo, his limits were stretched farther than he meant to stretch them. Korvo took and took and never gave back. He lured Vanbo in with his helplessness, and Vanbo, being the aspiring psychologist he was, always fell for the trap, thinking he could help Korvo and make a difference, but it was a tired joke: 

How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb? 

Just one, but the light bulb has to want to change. 

Korvo was right. He  _ was  _ the one in control. Vanbo was just the guy who filled Korvo’s glass so he could drink it and call it half-empty. 

Vanbo pulled out. “Ride me.” He was clearly the one being fucked, not the one doing the fucking.

They switched positions. Korvo didn’t waste time lowering himself onto Vanbo’s root, biting his lip as he was stretched out again. He breathed heavily while he fucked himself with Vanbo’s root. “Damn, I never get tired of your root.” He grinded their mounds together and groaned. “I just love having my hole filled to the brim, Vanbo. Y-You know how much I love getting my hole filled, right, Vanbo?” 

Vanbo held onto Korvo’s hips and bucked himself into Korvo’s heat. “How could I forget?” he laughed. Vanbo groaned louder the harder and faster Korvo rode him. “God-fucking-dammit, Korvo… You drive me crazy.” He was as whipped as butter. 

Korvo moved Vanbo’s hand to his throat again. “Call me a slut.” 

Wanton lust took over Vanbo. He would give his credit card number, at this point, if Korvo asked. “You’re a fucking slut, Korvo. J-Just look at you… fucking my root like rent is due tomorrow.” He squeezed his hand around Korvo’s throat tighter. 

Korvo smiled, and Vanbo could see there was nothing well-intentioned in his eyes. “Tell me I’m useless.” 

“You’re… Y-You’re useless,” Vanbo sputtered out. “You’ll, uh… never amount to anything. And your major is stupid.” 

He really had no idea what he was doing, but it worked, anyway. Korvo was riding him fast and jerking his root off even faster. “Oh, Vanbo… Vanbo, I’m... “ He closed his eyes and cried out his pleasure. 

Vanbo flipped their positions, and pinned Korvo’s wrists over his head. He shoved himself deep into Korvo and didn’t move. He smirked when Korvo began whining and grinding their mounds together, whispering Vanbo’s name over and over desperately and begging for more sweet friction. “Yeah, that’s right. Say my name, Korvo. You fucking know you need me to fuck your mind out.” He gave one hard thrust, then stopped again. “You’ve got no real coping mechanisms. You’re so miserable ‘cause you think you’re never going to be good enough for anyone.” He gave another hard thrust. “But you figured out that you’ll always be desirable in bed.” 

Korvo was so close to cumming. He couldn’t stop moaning. “Please, Vanbo,” he begged. “I need this! Please!  _ Vanbo, Vanbo, Vanbo! _ ” 

Vanbo picked up the pace, but kept it slow. He wanted to torture Korvo a little, make him writhe and call out his name a little longer. “You’ve got me fucked up, Korv. Truth is, I need this, too.” 

“ _ Vaaanbo! _ ” Korvo cried out. “Please, please, please. I need to cum, Vanbo! Please, make me cum!” 

“Whatever you want, Korv.” 

Vanbo fucked Korvo hard and fast, and was about to finish first, until Korvo pulled him in for another sudden kiss. It surprised him too much, and he reacted with a slap without thinking. The stinging pain sent Korvo over the edge and had him cumming his nectar all over both of their stomachs within seconds. The sensation of Korvo tightening around him sent Vanbo over the edge, too, shortly after. Vanbo grinded their hips together and rode out his orgasm, before rolling over and collapsing beside Korvo. 

Korvo closed his eyes and basked in the waves of pleasure still coursing through his body. All the stiffness of a day’s worth of crouching over a desk dissipated. Adrenaline, serotonin, oxytocin, dopamine—he could memorize all the molecular structures, but some knowledge is better absorbed through practice. His heart was still going a mile a minute from that hard slap still burning hot on his cheek. 

Vanbo sat up, but Korvo caught his wrist before he could excuse himself to wash his hands. 

“What happened last night?” Korvo asked. 

“Seriously, Korv?” Vanbo felt like he was stuck in a rut, at this point. “You seriously don’t remember?” 

“Yes, Vanbo! That’s what I just said!” 

Vanbo opened his mouth, but stopped himself. He knew Korvo well, probably better than Korvo knew himself given how spotty Korvo’s memory has been lately, so he made an executive decision: “How about this—either I tell you about last night, or I make you a drink. Pick your poison.” He lent Korvo self-help books, wrote him antidepressant and anti-anxiety prescriptions, and spent too many nights agonizing under a hot shower about his inability to help his own friend. Sure the sex was good (amazing, toe-curling, depression-curing, even), but last night… Vanbo hated it, absolutely loathed it, when Korvo avoided his issues, but maybe what happened last night was better left forgotten. 

“What is this, Zoh-Phee’s Decision?” Korvo scoffed. Any reason for hesitance went over his head. “Why not both?” 

Vanbo sat back down on the bed. “You’ve heard of Xlato’s cave, right?” 

Korvo rolled his eyes. “Are you a psychologist or a philosopher?” 

Vanbo tossed a pillow at Korvo’s face. “Fuck you, I’m both.” While Korvo was slaving away for  _ one  _ Bachelor’s in engineering, Vanbo was slaving away harder for  _ two  _ Bachelor’s, in psychology  _ and  _ philosophy. Both just happened to be Korvo’s least favorite subjects. “There are prisoners that grew up in a dark cave, facing a blank wall with shadows casted of objects in front of the fire.” 

“Why don’t they just turn around?” 

“They can’t, they’re chained. But anyway, that’s all they know, and sometimes they hear sounds, but they think it’s coming from the shadows.” 

“Why don’t they just off themselves?” 

“They  _ can’t,  _ they’re  _ chained, _ ” Vanbo repeated. He didn’t know how Korvo’s professors ever put up with him.  _ Every  _ thought experiment, Korvo asked that same question. “But one day, one prisoner is freed and he’s finally able to see the fire. It’s so bright to him, to the point where he can’t even see the objects casting the shadows. So he wants to turn away from it because it hurts his eyes. But then he’s dragged out of the cave into the sun. And, again, it’s blinding and it hurts his eyes—”

“So then, he—”

“ _ No,  _ he doesn’t off himself! His eyes get adjusted and he can finally see the grass, the trees, the rivers, and the blue sky above. Then, he wants to share this new world with the other prisoners, so he returns to the cave, but he’s completely blind because it’s hard for his eyes to adjust to the darkness after being in the late. The other prisoners think the journey to the outside world is painful, because it blinded that man, so now they would try to kill anyone who tried to take them to the outside world.” 

“Why are you…” Korvo trailed off when he realized what Vanbo was doing. It was another one of Vanbo’s allegories. The prisoners didn’t trust the light because all they knew was the dark. They didn’t believe in the grass, the trees, the rivers, and the supposed blue sky above. Korvo hugged the pillow to himself. Though the prisoners rejected the light, they had the same logic as the freed man. They based their logic off of what they knew, and those prisoners saw the freed man blinded by the journey to the outside. The only difference was that one of them was forced to face the pain. This was supposed to be the part where Korvo learned his lesson and chose the light, even if it hurt. 

Briefly, he remembered Terry leaving him earlier that day, turning his back on the darkness of Korvo’s apartment and fearlessly striding toward the blinding light. 

“Make me a drink,” Korvo decided. 

Vanbo was relieved. “You got it.” 

If Vanbo was the freed man who saw the light, Korvo must be the prisoner. Korvo realized that the prisoners’ mistake wasn’t rejecting the light, it was rejecting the truth that the freed man was trying to spread. Only the freed man, who knew the pain of coming into the light after a lifetime of darkness, had any right to judge whether it was worth it to venture from the shadows. Vanbo was the freed man warning Korvo that the light was too painful. Korvo could see the truth in Vanbo’s eyes. 

After washing his blistered hands with one, two, three, four, five pumps of hand soap, Vanbo fixed up a pretty pink cocktail for Korvo that matched the shade of Terry’s gemstone perfectly. To Korvo, it was a mystery how Vanbo was always able to mix him the perfect drink. Korvo thought Vanbo was Shlorp’s greatest mixologist, but really, it was only because Vanbo knew him so well. Years ago, Vanbo realized that Korvo had impaired taste. The secret ingredient to Vanbo’s drinks was an egregious amount of sugar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got done with all my summer classes! It's so wonderful. Now I have two weeks of summer vacation before fall quarter starts. By the way, I am open for paid writing commissions! DM me for more info <3 
> 
> Also, the lesson of Plato's cave allegory isn't actually the lesson that Korvo learned. I think the most popular interpretation is that the shadows represent the media that's being controlled by the government and escaping the cave is about finding out the truth about awful corruption that the government is hiding from its citizens. 
> 
> Don't forget to SMASH that Kudos button and leave a comment! Tell me what you liked! Genuinely, your comments make me so happy. I re-read all of them every day!

**Author's Note:**

> Usually, I'd just delay posting until it was completely finished, but I'm too lazy haha. I'll update this soon. 
> 
> Subversion of the typical slutty Terry stuff I usually write/see on here. Korvo definitely has dumb slut energy, too. He fucks old people, DEAD people, and math, apparently. In this story, I imagine Korvo and Vanbo's relationship as kinda like something Korvo always regrets but can't stop coming back to because he has no real standards. Like nerd/jock but both are horny. Terry's at that point in his sluttiness where he wants to settle down and get in a relationship. 
> 
> And you just KNOW I love to throw in some angsty backstories. So yeah, in this story, Shlorpians are raised by their gene donors but it's pretty much optional and very non-involved. You only raise your replicant if you care about stuff like your bloodline being known for success and whatever, but Korvo's gene donor is a non-involved, hypocritical asshole that expects the world of him but isn't even a good role model. If you don't wanna raise your replicant they just get to live in the school dorms and grow up that way, like boarding school. 
> 
> There is HELLA overinflation and information overload and crazy market demands because Shlorp is going all out before it explodes. Gotta squeeze out as much productivity as it can out of the Shlorpians before it's all over. Everyone is in a frenzied panic, trying to feel some semblance of fulfillment and filling the void with cute drinks and fancy apartments. And you get generational gaps that are getting smaller and smaller because so much happens in just a single day that would've usually been enough to fill an entire year. Korvo and Terry are only two years apart in age in this story, but Korvo lived in a completely different environment with totally different ideals and that's where you get their clash in belief systems. 
> 
> How do you attain happiness? For Korvo, it just means doing his duties as a Shlorpian and getting good grades and working his assigned job. All classes before Terry had assigned occupations. But for Terry's class, they changed it up. They offered new majors and new classes and let Terry's class pick whatever the hell they wanted. When the world is ending, you panic and everything seems so worthless, so you want to rebel. The remedy for that is false comforts, false victories, false happiness. Terry's generation is given hope, because that's what will motivate his class at that point in Shlorp's planetary cycle to embark on the mission to resurrect the homeworld. Hope for emotional fulfillment. Korvo's generation is so used to being suppressed, so his generation will embark on the mission to resurrect the homeworld because it's simply his duty. 
> 
> It probably doesn't make too sense lol, I mean, it's only two years. But you gotta suspend your disbelief! It's a metaphor!


End file.
